


and it's you

by sharoncarters



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 11:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4563447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharoncarters/pseuds/sharoncarters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owen is a famous Youtuber, Claire is a lawyer, and his viewers ship it, much to Claire's complete and utter dismay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and it's you

**Author's Note:**

> lmao i have no idea how much youtubers get paid or if they even need lawyers, but for the sake of the story let's just go for it. i honestly had no plot in mind besides the shippers going crazy and not believing claire and owen when they tell them they're not dating. hope you like this regardless!

The shrill sound of her alarm makes Claire jolt underneath her covers, like it does every single morning. No matter how many times she hears the sound she never gets used to it, and wakes up heart pounding, confused, weekday after weekday. Safe to say she's not a morning person. 

She groans into her pillow, grabbing her phone off the side table near her bed and silencing the alarm. She checks the time after it's quiet, 7:15 am. Technically, she only needs, like, twenty minutes to get ready, if she wants to be lazy. Which she does. So she closes her eyes and promises _five more minutes_ to herself.

Her alarm rings again and Claire's heart leaps out of her chest as she throws the covers off of herself, realizing that she's overslept. And, to make it worse, she understands that her dumb sleepy brain had read the time as 7:15 when it had, in fact, been 7:51, and she now has fifteen minutes to get ready _and_ get to work on time. Fuck. 

Thankfully, she manages to make herself look somewhat presentable, and makes it to work only three minutes late. She had to run all the way there, but it was better than putting her faith in an Uber or the unreliable bus system. She rushes off to the bathroom as soon as she signs in, using coffee as an excuse, even though she hasn't even had a cup yet this morning (note to self: find coffee, even if it's the shitty watered down kind that Linda always leaves in the pot), and fixes her makeup in the mirror instead of actually peeing. 

She would be late, today of all days.

Claire was only a lowly associate at Masrani Legal, but she was proud of her position. She had worked hard in law school to get where she was, and even though her school wasn't an ivy league, she had managed to get a spot at one of the top firms in the country. 

The job wasn't as glamorous as _Suits_ made it out to be, but she loved it. Even though some of their clients were money hungry, Mr. Masrani was a genuinely decent person, and took on a lot of pro bono work as well. 

Claire was specifically chosen by one of the partners at the firm to meet with a new client today, and because she was so looking forward to it, she had to fuck it up. She just hoped she wouldn't be in too much trouble when she showed up to the conference room a few minutes late. It didn't seem like a lot, in retrospect, but in this business timing and presentation were everything. 

She thanked all the gods she could think of when she approached Conference Room B and found it empty. She double checked the notes on her phone to make sure that this was the actual room they were supposed to be meeting in, and calmed down once she realized that everything was fine and that Jen wouldn't know she had run late. 

Claire checked her makeup one last time to make sure she didn't look as disheveled as she felt, and gave Jen a professional smile when she saw her walking down the hall with the client. 

He was, in all honesty, incredibly good looking. If you were into the whole messy on purpose thing. Which she wasn't. Usually. Claire normally went for the corporate types, slicked back hair and suits, but she hadn’t had sex in a good couple of months, so sue her. He was attractive in a modest, casual way, with his simple outfit (shorts, _honestly_ ), his golden tan and white teeth. 

Claire could tell already that he was trying to charm the pants off of Jen, even though he was closer to Claire's age than hers. Not that she cared. Jennifer White had a way of shutting down even the most annoying of douchebags, which Claire had only had the the honor of seeing once before. She wasn't worried.

She got up to introduce herself when Jen opened the door.

"Ms. Dearing, prompt as always," Claire really hoped she didn't blush too hard at that, "this is Mr. Owen Grady. He's thinking of signing on with us."

"Nice to meet you," she smiled at him in what she hoped was a friendly way (her roommate Zara was constantly telling her that she naturally exuded bitchiness, which Claire always had to respond to by saying "it's my _face_!") and offered him a hand. 

He grinned at her, eyeing her hair and makeup (which she had fixed, god bless) with interest. They all sat down.

"Owen," Jen started, "why don't you tell my associate about what you do and the services you'd like our firm to provide. I haven't filled her in yet."

"Oh," he said, sounding surprised. "I'm a youtuber. I just wanted to have a legal team, I guess, 'cause my channel's getting pretty popular and I have some money that I don't really know how to protect. I wanna buy a new place, too, and need someone to make sure all the documents are okay? I'm horrible with all the corporate talk," he finishes, looking sheepish. 

Claire, however, is still stuck on his first sentence. "I'm sorry," she scrunches her eyebrows together, "you're a what now?"

"A youtuber." He looks amused, like he's surprised that someone doesn't know who he is, and she's slightly put off by his smug face. Working at a law firm took a lot out of a person, forgive her if she didn't know all the new celebrities in the world. "You know, vlogs, funny videos, challenges, the works."  

"It's a surprisingly lucrative career," Jen adds, flashing Claire a warning look. Right. Work. New client. Do not fuck this up. 

"Of course," Claire smiles again, hoping to wipe away her outburst. 

"We'd be happy to do all of that for you, Mr. Grady. It sounds like what you need is someone that specializes in entertainment law, which is exactly why I'm meeting with you," Jen smiles proudly, which she has a right to do.

"She's one of the best in the country," Claire adds, and Owen smiles again.

"Great, then. Where do I sign?” He doesn’t even ask about the fees or anything, which surprises her. How much could he possibly make? 

"We'll have to talk over a few other matters, but I'll have my associate type up the paperwork right away. By next week you will officially be one of our clients. She’ll call you to schedule our next meeting." 

He's surprisingly attentive throughout the rest of the meeting, despite not knowing a lot about the business. Jen was an expert at explanations, though, and she dictated to him her role as both his litigator and financial advisor. It was incredible to watch her work, even though Claire wasn't sure what kind of law she wanted to go into in the future. She was extremely lucky just to have this job, for now.

Jen had to leave to go to another meeting soon afterwards, and left Claire to finish up with Owen. All she had to do was walk him out and schedule a time for him to come back and sign their contract, but being left alone was still a pretty big deal. It meant she was learning, and that someone high up trusted her. It meant a lot. 

"So you really don't know what youtubers are," he says, again with that shit-eating grin once Jen is gone and Claire's scheduled him for a meeting a week from today. (She figures it's enough time for her to make up all the paperwork, double check it for errors, and have Jen go over it. Plus she'll have the weekend, which is a bonus.) 

"I know what they are," she snaps, defensively, out of habit. "I just didn't think they made enough money to afford a firm like this. Or even needed lawyers at all." 

"You'd be surprised," he retorts, "the number of companies that want me to sponsor them. I'm kind of a big deal." He says it like it's a fact, but Claire can't help sniping at him again. She had worked her ass off to get where she was, and all he had to do was sit in front of a computer. Not everyone was that lucky. 

"I'm glad you think so." She curses herself for it the second it's out of her mouth. She needs to learn how to control her temper, but there's something about him that kind of makes her want to rip his face off. 

His mouth parts a little bit in surprise, and she's 90% sure he's going to terminate all negotiations right then and there, but he just laughs.

"I'll see you around, _Ms_. Dearing." He leaves her in the conference room, a little bit stunned. She doesn't bother telling him her first name. 

 

* * *

 

Claire manages to make it through the day, starting Grady's paperwork (she refuses to call him by his first name), and doing anything else the higher ups need done. She doesn't have her own cases or clients yet, obviously, but she doesn't mind. She knows that she needs to be patient in order to move up, and she's just fine filling out a bunch of subpoenas if that will get her there.   

She also manages to get some coffee in her system (thank you, Max), which brightens her mood considerably. She decides to set her alarm an for an hour early for next week, at 5 minute intervals, just so that she doesn't have the same crisis as she did today. The lack of coffee probably contributed to her rudeness, she's ashamed to admit. But she'll fix it. 

All she wants to do when she gets home after work is sleep, and maybe watch some tv if she can manage it, but Zara pounces on her the second she gets through the door. 

"We're going out tonight," she squeals, before Claire even has a chance to put her purse down. "And don't even make up any of those excuses you like, because it's not a club or whatever. I'm meeting a bunch of friends from work and high school, and you're coming, and it'll be great."

"And do I know any of these people?" Claire asks with a small eye roll, not even bothering to disagree. Zara's a chatterbox and a bit pushy, but she has good intentions, which is all Claire can really ask of anyone. If Claire’s a Hufflepuff, Zara is definitely a Slytherin, and she always manages to get her way once she’s made up her mind. 

"No?" Zara answers, a bit shyly, "but I've told them all about you and everyone's really excited to get together! It'll be nice, I promise. We're going to this really fancy place downtown. I'll buy a huge appetizer and split it with you," she sings, and that's all Claire really needed. Never mind the fact that she would've gone without having to be bribed. 

"When are we leaving?" she sighs, and Zara jumps up and claps her hands. 

"Six. So get your ass in the bathroom and get ready!" She yells, pushing Claire along. 

 

* * *

 

The restaurant is just as nice as Zara made it out to be while they were getting ready. She didn’t know how dressed up to get, really, so she stuck with a simple top and some dark wash jeans. Zara went with a black dress that looked incredible on her, which made Claire a little jealous, but she got over it quickly. 

She’d had a lot of problems with her appearance when she was younger, and especially in college, and even though she had gotten past that now sometimes the old feelings would come back to haunt her. She had to remind herself when that happened that she wasn’t the same girl she was in high school and college, and she worked really hard keep it that way. She wasn’t ever going to go back to that. Ever. 

Zara spots her friends in the restaurant as soon as they walk in and runs over, squealing and hugging the two women and two men already seated. She’d taken a long time to get ready as usual, despite her rushing Claire along, and they were the last ones to arrive. They walked, too, just to get some fresh air and not have to waste money on a cab. They might both have stable jobs, but they were still in their twenties and didn’t make as much as they’d like to. 

Claire took her time walking to the table behind her best friend, checking her phone to avoid feeling too ostracized. When Zara’s done saying her hellos Claire shoves her phone back in her purse, looking up at everyone there. Her eyes widen when she sees the man currently goofing off and filming one of his friends, taking in a familiar smile and horrid pair of board shorts. 

"Owen," she breathes, surprised. She had absolutely no idea he would be there. She would ask Zara how she knows him, but she’s too blindsided by the entire moment. His head snaps towards her, and he almost drops his camera, fumbling quickly to set it down on the table.

Zara looks back and forth between them. “Claire?” She asks, mouth curling into a secretive smile. “You two know each other?"

"Uh," Owen starts, but Claire intercedes.

"He's a new client at my firm. We just met.”

“Uh huh. Today, I presume?” Her eyes are still darting between the two, and Claire knows where her mind is headed. She just nods in response. 

Zara smiles wide. “Great! Now you have a friend! Sit!” She commands, and Claire has no choice but to sit next to Owen, so that there’s three people on each side of the booth. Their thighs brush together and she tries not to shudder at the contact. Zara goes back to conversing with the two women sitting on her side of the table. 

“You look nice,” Owen comments, and she turns her head to look at him. Her pulse jumps. “Without the corporate getup, I mean.” 

“I could say the same,” she tells him, teasing, feeling more like herself, “but I’d just be lying. I mean, really, did a fifth grader from 1999 pick out those shorts, or what?” 

His friend guffaws, slapping Owen on the arm, and introduces himself. “There are only a select few people in this world that can insult Owen as well as I can,” he grins, leaning towards the table so that he can talk to her face to face around Owen, who’s sitting between them, Claire on the end. “Lowery Cruthers,” he offers, shaking her hand. 

“Claire Dearing,” she smiles back. “How do you two know each other?”  

“You know, it’s not nice to talk about people when they’re sitting right next to you,” Owen adds, picking up his camera and turning it on her. Claire immediately freezes, forgetting her question. 

“What are you doing?” she snaps, batting the offensive object away from her face. 

“Uh, vlogging. It’s kind of a thing that I do, remember?” He has the audacity to look surprised that she even asked. 

“Can I not be in it?” She knows a lot of people that would pretend to be “camera shy” only to go back on their word and be in videos anyway, but she is not one of those people. If he’s as famous as he led her to believe, she doesn’t want anyone to know that she’s associated with him in any way, and she definitely doesn’t want her face on the internet any more than is absolutely necessary. 

He looks surprised again, as if no one has ever asked him that before. But he just nods, instead. 

“Sorry,” he says, and this time she’s the surprised one. “No one ever really has a problem with it, you know? It’s basically my entire life.” 

“I’d just… rather not.”  

“Noted.” 

 

* * *

 

The rest of the night goes surprisingly well. Owen never aims the camera at her face, focusing instead on his other friends and Zara, who belongs on camera, anyway. Zara, Owen, and Lowery all went to high school together, apparently, and the other two girls, Melissa and Amy, knows Zara from her job at the coffee shop. 

Claire actually doesn’t feel all that excluded after the introductions are made, and has a decent time with Zara’s friends. She ends the dinner somewhat tipsy, wanting to go home and sleep (she _does_ have work tomorrow, it’s a Tuesday), but Zara and the girls decide to go out dancing last minute. 

Owen offers to walk her home. 

“It’s fine, really.” She starts to ramble. She tends to get increasingly talkative the more stressed out or uncomfortable she is. “I can make it there myself, it’s not that far. Zara and I walked here earlier.” It’s sweet that he offered, but she’d rather not have to spend any more time alone with him than necessary. He’s going to be one of her firm’s clients, and she figures it’s extremely unprofessional to be seeing him outside of the office. Plus, they only met today. She has no idea who he is. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, smiling softly, “but it was still light out then. Come on, I don’t bite.” She has a very interesting flash in her mind right then of him doing some interesting things involving the word _bite_ , and quickly shakes her head, flushing slightly. It’s just the wine. 

“Okay, fine.” 

 

* * *

 

They walk in silence for a while, until it gets almost too much to bear, and she has to say something. 

“Why do you do it?” she blurts, and he turns his head away from the street to look at her. 

“Do what?”

“You know, film things. Vlogging. Why d’you do it?” 

“Oh,” he takes a few breaths, looking at her a bit strangely. “No one’s really… asked me that before.” He’s quiet again for a bit. “I did it at first because I thought it was fun. I just liked filming my friends do stupid shit.” He gives her a wry smile. “But now it’s more like… I don’t want to forget. I don’t know why people watch my videos, but I’m really grateful for it. And each time I film a vlog it’s like I’m filming more memories to look back on when I’m older. My life is better than I could’ve ever imagined it to be. I want to be able to look back on it and have those memories.” 

They’ve made it back to her place by then, and she stops walking. She doesn’t know how to respond to what he’s said, because she’s surprised he had such a decent answer. She was expecting him to say that he did it for the views, or because people wanted him to. She _really_ doesn’t know what compels her to say, “Want to come in?”, but she does it anyway.  

He looks surprised for about the millionth time that day, and that’s probably why. She’s never surprised anyone before. She was always good Claire, nice Claire, do-what-you’re-told Claire.She did her work in high school, college, law school, without ever saying a word. That’s just who she was. But she was never surprising to anyone, not to her family and not even to people she’d just met. 

She just didn’t want that look to go away. 

He leans in, then, and she’s scared by how much she wants to kiss him. Her breath catches in her throat as his lips brush against hers, but it’s not a kiss.  

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he whispers, and she shivers a little. “I’ll see you around, Claire.” She watches him walk away and walks up the stairs to her apartment, wondering when the last time was that she had ever wanted someone that much. Maybe never. 

 

* * *

 

“So, want to tell me what was going on between you and Owen last night?” Zara asks the next day when Claire gets home from work. She’d been distracted all day, but thankfully she didn’t have any urgent tasks to get done, so she’d let her mind wander. Zara had opted out of going to work, calling in sick instead, which was understandable. She was snuggled up on the couch watching Netflix when Claire walked in. 

“Nothing,” she says, trying to sound as convincing as possible. He was cute, she was on her way to being drunk, that’s all. She didn’t even really like him, anyway. He was sort of an asshole, if she was being truthful. 

“Uh huh,” Zara says, repeating her words from last night. Which basically translated to “I don’t fucking believe you, but whatever you say”. Claire didn’t want to get into it.  

“Just drop it, okay? It’s not even worth thinking about.” 

Zara just hums from her spot on the couch but thankfully doesn’t say anything else, and Claire goes to her room for the rest of the night. 

 

* * *

 

Claire decides to finish up all of Owen’s paperwork on Saturday. She learns that he’s twenty six, only two years older than her, which is surprising. He still acts like he’s a teenager, but maybe that’s why all of his viewers like him so much.  

She decides to let herself slack off, just a little. She’s almost done, anyway, and she’s curious. Claire goes on Youtube and searches his name. 

His channel is the first result, his name in black letters next to a picture of him from when he was obviously younger, because he doesn’t have his beard in yet. She clicks on his channel, scrolls through some of the videos. She can’t bring herself to watch any of them, yet, and instead clicks through to his vlog channel. 

The newest one is titled “Meetings & Old Friends” and she immediately knows it’s the one from the day that they met. Something warms inside of her when she realizes that he hasn’t uploaded a new one since then. 

If she hadn’t been procrastinating, and if she hadn’t sat there and watched the entire fifteen minutes of the video completely glued to her computer screen, she would’ve missed it. 

He filmed her. 

He filmed her, when she had specifically asked him not to, while she wasn’t paying attention. It wasn’t much, really, but the fact that it was there at all is what bothered her. The shot panned around their entire table, from Lowery to Zara and her friends, and ended on her. She hadn’t noticed him filming, obviously, because if she had she’d have shoved the camera away. 

Instead, she was smiling softly at a joke that Zara had probably made, resting her head on her hand while they were all waiting for their food. The camera lingered on her face for a secondlonger than it had on anyone else, before Owen was directing it at Lowery again. 

Her heart thudded loudly in her chest. Like an idiot, she scrolled down to look at the comments. 

 

**gradybear614** who’s the redhead that they were with?? i’ve never seen her in a video before. am i missing something???

**alyssa** not sure but she’s super pretty! maybe that’s his girlfriend   
**catherine sander** nah he doesn’t have a girlfriend   
**alyssa** ok but how do you know?? maybe she doesn’t like being on camera

 

The comments go on like that for pages and pages, thousands of them, wondering if they’re dating or if he’s dating Zara (which, ew), and then other people criticizing those comments, and spiraling out of control. One that stuck out to her was someone who said they “shipped” her and Owen, whatever that meant. She shut her laptop and groaned. 

This was exactly what she didn’t want to happen. Other people, _strangers_ , speculating about her life, commenting on it as if it didn’t belong to her. Which was why she specifically asked for him _not_ to film her. 

She stomps angrily into the kitchen, where Zara’s making herself a cup of tea. 

“You okay there, tiger?” she asks, noting Claire’s murderous expression and possible foam frothing from her mouth. 

“No,” Claire huffs, searching the fridge and freezer for any snack that she could consume to make this all go away. “Owen filmed me.” 

“And?” Zara raises an eyebrow, blowing on the hot liquid in her Minnie Mouse cup.  

“ _And_ ,” Claire grumbles, grabbing a carton of pistachio ice-cream (her favorite) from the freezer, “I specifically asked him not to. Now some teenage girls on the internet want to ship me somewhere, or… something. I don’t know.” 

Zara bursts out laughing, which is the opposite of helpful, but when she’s done she snorts out, “You mean they _ship_ you guys?”

“I don’t know, I guess? What does it mean, Zara,” she pleads, jokingly, “teach me how to be hip like the kids.” 

They both burst into laughter, and Zara gestures for Claire to follow her to the couch. “You have a lot to learn, young grasshopper.” 

 

* * *

 

Hours later and Claire sort of has a hold on the entire thing, paperwork forgotten. “So, they want us to date, basically.” 

“That’s pretty much it.” 

“Weird.”

“Tell me about it.”

 

* * *

 

She makes sure to put on her favorite outfit for work on Monday morning, just to rub it in his face. And she makes sure to stop at Starbucks beforehand, so that she’s mean because she wants to be and not by default. Plus she just really loves coffee. 

Jen reviewed her work the day before, so everything was good there. All they needed to do was get him to sign the contract. 

He gets to the meeting room before Jen, so it’s just them alone again, and Claire crosses her arms in a way that she hopes says “I’m horribly mad at you” to him. He just raises an eyebrow in response. She says nothing. 

“Okay, I’ll bite,” he grins, leaning on his forearms. His stupid, muscly forearms. Whatever. “What’s going on?”

“I,” Claire says, taking a pause for emphasis, “am not speaking to you.” She stops, thinking for a second. “Unless I need to, for my job. But besides that I’m not speaking to you.” 

“And why is that?” His genuine confusion is cute, she’ll give him that, but she still doesn’t answer his question. He opens his mouth to say something else, but Jen comes in and that shuts him right up. She presents the contract to him, explaining everything and where to sign, and he does so without questioning it. Claire actually doesn’t have to say much at all, which works in her favor.  

He stops her as she’s following Jen out of the room. “Claire,” he starts, his hand on her arm. She flinches and pulls out of his grasp. “Did I do something to you? Is it because of that night?” He looks so upset, she has to give in. The effect he has on her is annoying.  

She looks around to make sure no one is in hearing range, and answers him, whispering. “Yes. But, not in the way that you think. Unless you’re thinking of the same thing as me. Shit.” He smiles at her rambling, which just makes her do it more. “You filmed me!” Her voice raises and she takes a second to calm it down. “When I didn’t want to be in your video. And now my face is on the internet for people to judge. Why would you do that?” 

“It was just a few seconds, come on. No one’s ever serious when they say they don’t want to be filmed.”

“Yeah, well, I was. Have a nice life,” she snaps, maybe a bit too dramatically, marching back to her tiny cubicle and hoping that he doesn’t come after her. She doesn’t need to lose her job over him along with parts of her sanity. 

 

* * *

 

She gets a text a few days later. 

Unknown, 5:45 PM, i really am sorry. i could make it up to you? coffee?? 

She’s tempted to respond, “who the fuck is this?” but she knows exactly who it is and exactly how he got her number. She asks him, anyway, just to make sure.  

Me, 5:50 PM, Who gave you my number? 

Unknown, 5:50 PM, zara, obviously 

Me, 5:52 PM, what exactly do you want me to say? 

Unknown, 5:52 PM, yes, preferably  

Me, 6:00 PM, I’ll think about it.

 

* * *

This is the text that she sends the next day (she’s never been good at keeping grudges): 

Me, 7:45 AM, Meet me at the Starbucks near the office. 6:00.

Owen, 7:45 AM, wouldn’t miss it

Something about how fast he answers her makes Claire smile a little to herself, and she knows that she’s in trouble. 

 

* * *

 

Owen’s already there when she finally walks over after work, exhausted but in a good way, the way she always feels after doing something useful at the office. Today it was helping one of the senior partners write up a motion, and it felt great. 

He smiles widely when he sees her and she ignores any and all feelings that that causes, and makes her way over to the table.  

“Hey,” he says, “I got you a plain black coffee. Zara said that’s what you like.”  

“Oh, um. Yes. Thank you.” 

“No big.” 

She spots the camera as she sits down and puts her purse on the table, and narrows her eyes at it, and then at him. 

“Vlogging today?”

“Huh?” he looks down, as if he had forgotten it was even there. “Oh, yeah.” He shrugs. “I do it so often sometimes I forget.” 

“Well, as long as we don’t have any more mishaps we’ll be fine.” 

“Look, Claire, I feel like we—“ his sentence is interrupted by a soft squeak from behind him, and a girl, no older than fifteen, shyly smiles and steps out from behind where Owen’s sitting. 

“I’m sorry, um. I hope I didn’t interrupt. Is it okay if I, I mean. Could I have a picture with you?” she asks Owen softly, and Claire swears his smile almost blinds her.  

“Hell yes, you can have a picture!” Claire bites her lip to keep from smiling. She wonders if this is how he always reacts to getting his picture taken. “Claire, do you mind?” he gestures towards the girl’s phone, and she nods. 

“Sure.” 

The girl gives over her phone and Claire snaps a couple pictures of the pair, then hands it back to her. 

“What’s your name?” Owen asks her after they’re done.  

“Anna.”  

“Well, Anna, how would you feel about being in a vlog?” 

Twenty minutes later Anna leaves with the most adorable smile on her face, and Owen finally takes a sip of his coffee, which is most likely cold by then, but he doesn’t seem to mind.  

“That was cute,” Claire grins at him. “Do you do that for all of your fans?”

“As many as I can, yeah. I mean I’d just be a loser that talks to a camera without them, so. I feel like I owe them at least that much, if not more.” Her stomach flutters. There he goes with those sincere answers again. “Also, like I wanted to say before, I think we got off on the wrong foot. So. Friends?”

“Why not?”

 

* * *

 

Their friendship progresses through the videos like this:

Video one after their coffee meet up (because she refuses to call it a date): 

“Good morning, Youtube. I’m off to go hang out with my friend Claire, who’s a little camera shy, but I’ll try to sneak in some footage for you guys.” 

“Sorry, everyone, she caught me and made me put my camera in her kitchen. She’s a freaking ninja, that Claire.”

 

Video two: 

“Do you really have to keep that thing on all the time?”

“Come on, let the viewers see your pretty face.” 

“Ha ha, very funny.”

 

Video three:

“Claire,” he laughs, filming a shot of her pouting in the kitchen. “Tell the viewers,” he laughs again, unable to control himself, “tell them what you just did.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” 

“What did you do?”

She sighs, not even caring about the camera at this point. “I spilled tea all over myself. And… then I dropped the cup and it broke. But it was really hot, okay, and I wasn’t paying attention. Whatever.” He points his camera at her, and she’s smiling, for once, and then at her apartment floor, which is covered in a tannish liquid (she likes her tea with milk in it) and the remains of her cup. Thankfully it wasn’t her favorite one.  

“This is why I ask you not to film me,” she complains with a small laugh to show that she’s kidding.

 

* * *

 

Claire’s pacing back and forth around his apartment, frantically running her fingers through her hair. 

The video is his idea. They’ve been friends for about two months now, and she’s gotten slightly more comfortable with his vlogs and is even comfortable enough to be in some of them for longer than thirty seconds. This, however, does not do anything about the shippers, who, if anything, get even worse now that they have more footage than just a couple seconds of her. 

There are actual videos dedicated to them, now, set to cheesy music and everything. _Ed Sheeran_ , even. It’s just too overwhelming. Which is why she tells him that his idea is a horrible one. 

“Oh, come on. It’ll be quick. I make Q and A’s all the time. You can just be in it for a few seconds.”

She’s gotten used to him filing when they go out with friends, and when he comes over to her apartment and they don’t really do much, but this is different. This would be a conscious decision that she has made to be in a video. Where she knows that people will see all of her, in professional lighting and having planned what she’s going to say. It’s just… _different_ , but he doesn’t seem to get that. 

He’s too confident for his own good.

“Owen, there is more than enough of my face online. Plus, the shippers.” She doesn’t have to say anything else for him to understand, but he keeps trying to persuade her regardless.  

“This will set them straight. Please,” he pouts, and he _knows_ she can’t resist the puppy-dog pout. _Why am I such a pushover?_ she asks herself, before sighing. 

“Okay, fine. But I’ll only be in it for, like, a minute, okay? I don’t need this, you know.” 

“Nah, but you love me.”  

“Debatable.”

 

* * *

 

“For this next question, I have my friend Claire with me to help set the record straight. You guys know her by now, I hope.” She smiles weakly at the camera, giving a small wave, resisting the urge to cover her face with her hands. 

“I know you guys are just curious, but Claire’s still pretty camera shy, so I thought we could just get this over with really quickly and put you guys out of your misery.”  

She glares a him a little, for sounding so nice even when he’s essentially telling people to fuck off. She’ll never be that comfortable on camera. 

“It’s cute that you guys think so, but we’re not dating," he says to the camera, and she purses her lips together.

"Absolutely not." A few seconds pass. She turns to him, uncomfortable. The internet is going to have so much footage of her face now, it's almost sickening. "Are we done now?” He laughs. 

“Yes, you can go back to your pizza, I’m sure it misses you.” She sticks her tongue out at him and hopes the camera doesn’t catch her blush as she runs out of frame. 

 

* * *

 

“They didn’t believe us!” Claire complains, shoving her laptop screen at Owen to get him to take the situation more seriously. “They’re like… rabid hyenas! Listen to this!” She looks at a comment made by some girl named Madison, which is a totally decent name but in her head she says it with a lot more vitriol. “They’re totally lying did you see his face when she said are we done please he’s so in love I can’t. Except she spelled please like pls.” 

Owen’s laughing, editing another video on his own laptop, barely paying attention to her fuming next to him. “This isn’t funny!” she protests, even though it is, kind of. 

“It’s a little funny,” he grins, looking up at her, and she huffs and crosses her arms. “Who cares what they think, anyway? We told the truth.”

“I care!” Claire protests, “These people are judging my life! Someone said mean things about my hair,” she pouts. 

“Poor baby.”  

“Ugh, you’re useless.”

 

* * *

 

“I really love their new album, too,” Max is saying, while Claire is pretty much completely zoned out. It’s sad that she doesn’t even know his last name, but she’s known him too long to ask now, (which is just typical of her, really). She has no idea what he’s talking about, but it’s preferable to doing paperwork at the moment, which she just can’t bring herself to do. Some days she’s just completely bored out of her mind at work, even though she’s at her dream job and couldn’t ask for anything else. 

She perks up a bit when she sees Owen walk through the front door, and he catches her eye and winks, making her laugh. Max thinks she’s laughing at something he’s just said, and she tries to pay attention to him, even though she can’t be bothered.

Owen’s there plenty often, so it shouldn’t be a big deal, but she can’t stop discreetly looking over at him, talking to Jen at the moment, because she _is_ his official legal counsel. 

She finds it hard to concentrate on what Max is saying, though, when Owen secretly aims his camera at her behind his back while talking to Jen, and she sticks her tongue out at it, knowing how hard it’ll make him laugh when he’s editing his daily log later.  

“So, are you in for tomorrow night?” Max is asking, and she blinks wildly for a minute, startled by his hand on her arm. She has to loo away from Owen, who’s making Jen laugh, before answering. She’s assuming Max means seeing that band he’s been prattling on about for the last twenty minutes, but something inside of her twists unpleasantly at the sight of Owen flirting with Jen, so she leans into Max’s arm. 

“Yes,” she smiles, and immediately adds, “text me the details later. I have kind of a short term memory.” A lie, obviously, but the easiest way to cover up the fact that she wasn’t listening. 

 

* * *

 

She only says yes because she needs to get laid, and because she’s trying to prove those stupid shippers wrong. Max is good looking and she’s not ashamed; she needs to do something will all of the pent up energy inside of her, and hanging around Owen isn’t helping at all. She can’t decide if she has feelings for him or not, and chooses to ignore them instead, like the mature twenty-four year old she is. Who cares what a bunch of teenagers on the internet say, anyway. 

Except, right when it’s getting to the good part, right there on Max’s couch after the hours long concert that she had to sit through to get to this, her phone rings. Max lets out a groan from underneath her, his hands halfway through undoing her bra.  

“Ignore it,” he pleads, and she has no qualms about that, tugging her phone out of her back pocket and throwing it on the couch cushions they’d abandoned on the floor. “God bless you,” he says in response, getting right back to it. 

And then her phone rings again. Claire used to think that always having her phone on vibrate was less irritating then actually having it ring, but this annoying buzzing is extremely close to making her change her mind. 

“I’m sorry,” she breathes, tucking her hair behind her ears and reaching for her phone. “No one ever really calls more than once unless it’s an emergency.”

He lets out a ragged breath, but lets her climb off of him. She quickly readjusts her shirt and grabs the phone. It’s Owen. She looks up at Max with a worried expression, but he seems to get the hint, fixing his jeans and walking towards what she assumes is the kitchen.

Claire unlocks her phone. “Hey,” she whispers, tugging at the hem of her top. It’s a nice one, black lace. “What’s up? Is everything alright?”

“Claire,” he answers, and she can immediately tell that something’s not right. His voice is slurred, slow. Not like he usually talks, all smooth and quick like he wants to get out as many words as possible. “You sound nice.”  

She pauses for a second. “Are you… are you _drunk_?” She hopes Max isn’t listening to this conversation, because it’s kind of embarrassing that she gave up getting laid to talk to another guy. She knows immediately that the mood is ruined, because now all she can think about is Owen and if he’s had too much to drink and if she should come help him. She starts putting her shoes back on. 

“Li’l bit,” he mumbles, and she can tell just from that that he’s more than just a “little bit” drunk. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, not really knowing what to say. “Should I come pick you up somewhere?” 

“No… ‘m good. I… Claire, listen. I like you.”

She takes a deep breath. Tries to play it off as a joke. Laughing, she answers him, “I like you too.” 

“Not like that,” his response is quick, desperate. “I like you… a lot. That video was a mistake.” She knows what video he’s talking about, but she doesn’t want to think about it. About what he’s saying. She’s gathering up her stuff in her purse, the phone resting on her shoulder. Poor Max. He’s going to hate her forever, probably. Sucks that she can’t move her desk, because she totally would. Claire hates confrontation.  

“Saw what you did,” Owen is saying as she’s sneaking out of Max’s apartment. It’s dark and the kitchen has a door to it, which is shut. She should feel bad but she really doesn’t. “’N the video. It was cute. You’re cute. You should come over.”

“Owen, I don’t. I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Please.” 

 

* * *

 

His apartment is super nice and she’s completely in love with it, and has imagined on multiple times living there. With him. Which she shouldn’t have, but she did, and now she’s here and she doesn’t know what to do.  

Claire knocks on the door. It takes a few seconds, but he answers. He’s adorably disheveled, wearing sweatpants, which is her absolute weakness.  

He looks surprised, again, which makes her heart melt just a little. “You actually came,” he breathes, and she just stands there. 

“Well, had to make sure that you wouldn’t do anything stupid, you know. Like upload a video completely drunk. Which is something you would do.”

“Uh uh.” He stands aside to let her in. 

She pads towards his couch, kicking off her shoes in the process. “So what do you want to do? Netflix? I’m kind of hungry. I could make us something, hangover food, or whatever. Not that you have a hangover yet, but it’s good to prepare. I know this great recipe for—“ 

“Claire,” he says, and she spins around, taking a deep breath. She didn’t realize how close he was; he has her practically backed up against the couch. She leans back a little bit, but he just leans closer and she feels dizzy, warm and dizzy and confused because he’s drunk and she’s still a little horny from her night with Max and—

His arms bracket her against the couch and she feels his breath fan across her face when he says, “Tell me it’s not just me. Tell me it’s not just me and I’ll leave you alone, I promise. Claire, please.” Their bodies are practically touching now and it feels like her chest is going to collapse in on her and she realizes that his breath smells like tequila, that’s what that is, she _hates_ tequila, but she likes him. A lot.   

“It’s not just you.”

“Good.” He presses his body against hers and it feels like _finally_ , even though they’d only been standing there for a minute at most, and his mouth is hot and desperate against her own, his hands cupping her face in the most gentle way that she wants to cry. She lets out a tiny sob against his mouth, and that just makes him more frantic, desperate to devour every inch of her and she wants, she _wants_ , but she can’t. 

“Owen,” she gasps, tearing her mouth away from his, and it makes a wet sound which makes her clench her thighs together, and she wishes that she didn’t have to stop. “We can’t. You’re drunk.”

“Not that drunk,” his eyelids are drooped a bit and she can see him staring at her lips, which on any other night would be great, but she just can’t get over the fact that he’s drunk. 

“I just… I need to know that it’s _you_ ,” she tells him, and he furrows his brow. “I want to know that you… _actually_ want me, and that it’s not just the alcohol. Um, I should go. We can talk tomorrow.” She starts to make her way towards the door again, forgetting that she doesn’t have shoes on because he did some type of mind control on her during that kiss, because she’s never been this disoriented, ever. 

He reaches for her arm again, and she’s reminded of that first day they met, even though this is so much different. She wanted to leave that time, but this time she doesn’t want to go ever again. She wants to stay here with him on his couch or in his bed or on the floor, even, she doesn’t care, but her stupid insecurities are getting in the way.  

“It’s not just the alcohol, okay?” He says, and he sounds so sincere that she almost believes him. “But you should stay over anyway; we don’t do anything. I’ll be glad to tell you over and over again in the morning when I’m sober, and the next day too. Promise.” He gives her that Owen grin that she loves, and she can’t help but let the corner of her mouth lift up in response, as hard as she’s trying to conceal it.  

“Okay,” she breathes. “Okay. But if you take it all back when you wake up that’s fine with me.” 

“Never.”

 

* * *

 

Waking up is disorienting, if only for the fact that she’s not alone and she can smell Owen right next to her, on the couch where they both fell asleep. Her hands shake as she walks to the kitchen to make them both some coffee. When she glances at the time on the microwave she lets out a laugh, because it’s barely 6 am and that’s so typical of her. 

She had a hard time falling asleep, too, knowing that he was there, but he was out after only an hour of talking so that kind of helped. She sips on her coffee for a while, before deciding to wander around his place. Not snoop, exactly, because she’s been in most of the rooms already, but he’d always been with her. There’s something about the still of the morning that’s new, considering she’s only ever been here during afternoons and nights. 

He has this one really great room that’s mostly empty except for a couple of beanbag chairs and a large window, and she’s drawn to it. She can picture herself reading a good book in there, maybe, having huge bookshelves that line the walls. But she’s getting ahead of herself. She isn’t even sure he likes her, really.  

So she sits and looks out the window for a while, sipping her coffee until it gets lukewarm, until Owen finds her.  

“Hey,” he croaks, in a version of his voice that she hasn’t heard before: sleepy, warm, gravelly. It makes her shiver. He walks over to where she’s sitting and plops down next to her, completely ungraceful but still fluid, in his own way. 

“Hi,” she whispers, and doesn’t know why. Something about the situation seems to call for it. He blinks sleepily and smiles at her.  

“I know you’re not going to ask, so. Here’s the speech: I like you a lot, Claire. And it’s kind of selfish of me, but I never wanted to be… just friends. And I know that you’re scared of the whole Youtube thing, which is ridiculous, because you’re perfect and my viewers love you. And even if they didn’t… I want to be with you. I really, really do. And I don’t know what I have to do to convince you but I will, just tell me what it is you want and I’ll do it—“

It’s her that cuts him off this time, pressing her lips against his, and something about the newness of it, the warmth and the morning sun drifting through the window, something about it is just right. Suddenly there are no viewers and no job and no Max and no Jen, just them, Owen and Claire. 

His teeth tug gently at her bottom lip and she caves, sliding into his lap like she’s meant to be there, and she can tell that he wants more but he lets her lead, his lips slow and steady against hers. “I have a lot of problems, you know,” she tells him, like an excuse, but it’s not. “But if you want to deal with all of my problems, you’re welcome to.” 

Owen shakes his head, as little as possible so that their lips are still touching. “Liar,” he breathes against them, and she laughs.  

“Whatever you say.”

 

* * *

 

“Apartment tour, apartment tour!” Claire calls out from behind the camera, and he rolls his eyes from behind the giant box that he’s holding. She’s walking up the stairs backwards in front of him, and trips a little when the stairs end, which makes him chuckle.  

“This is her stuff, by the way,” he says to the camera, which she’s gotten a little better at learning to see as the viewers. “Claire’s moving in, finally.” 

“Yup,” she grins cartoonishly, showing off all of her teeth, as she turns the camera on herself. She’s gotten better at that, too. 

They drop off her stuff in the living room and she teases him again. “Come on, Grady, show the viewers what they really want.” She giggles, running into his bedroom. He growls, trying to sound menacing, but he just sounds like an oversized puppy, and runs after her. Claire squeals as he tackles her onto the bed, but still manages to hold on to the camera. 

He takes it from her, one arm wrapped around her waist, and aims the camera at them. His arm is longer, so the shot is way better than anything she could’ve gotten. “See you later guys, gotta go,” he says quickly.  

“Owen,” she gasps, blushing because she knows he’ll keep that in and the viewers aren’t idiots, they know what’s going to happen next. 

“Shh,” he says, stopping the recording and placing the camera on his side table. His weight feels incredible on top of her, and he tickles her a bit before kissing her. “Mmm, I will never get tired of that.” 

Claire rolls her eyes. “Shut up and take your clothes off. I hate you, by the way. You’re cutting that part out.” It was a lost cause, but she thought she’d try just for the sake of trying.  

“Not a chance.” 

 

* * *

 

**gradydearings** they want to kill me oh ym god death is imminent 

**clawenisreal** i’m screaming oh my goooooood!!!!!! they’re so cute wtf 

**annie taylor** fuck I have to gif this when i get home

**Author's Note:**

> it's 2 am and i haven't proofread basically the entire second half of this, so if you guys see any typos let me know! tell me what you liked/didn't like/if you hated the entire thing


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